My Personal Flight From The Gaza Strip: From Gaza City to Rafah

On October 7 , 2023, I didn’t even know what was occurring. I had my headphones on, listening to music, utterly oblivious that my life was about to alter forever.

The first sign was the sound of rocket fire slightly breaking through my music—music I can’t even remember now. By the time I pulled off my headphones, hundreds of rockets had already lit up the sky, their eerie whistles filling the air.

My family and I hurried to the windows and combed social media to find out what was occurring. It took two hours—and hundreds of missiles—before we put together the dismal reality. Hamas had burst over the Israeli prison barrier, penetrated into Israeli land, and murdered roughly 400 IDF troops and police officials, along with over 800 Israeli civilians.

As I watched the footage and read the news updates, I readied myself for the inevitable response. I had lived through past battles in Gaza, and each one was horrific. But I knew this time would be different. This wasn’t simply a battle—it was devastation. Gaza, as I knew it, would never be the same again.

● The Israeli Response: A

Within hours after the October 7 strikes, Israel started a catastrophic bombing campaign on Gaza. Fighter planes flooded the sky—F-16s, F-35s, and all types of fighter jets—dumping 1,000- and 2,000-pound bombs on every corner of the runway.

I had survived Israeli bombing campaigns before, but this was beyond anything I had ever encountered. Entire communities were demolished in seconds. Bombing rounds proceeded for hours without rest, and each missile attack rocked the very foundations of our house. Death was everywhere.

Sleeping was almost difficult. The roar of drones, bombers, and missiles was relentless, a reminder that any moment may be our last. Even when tiredness overpowered me, terror would keep me awake—dread of never waking up again.

The first week of the conflict was the worst. It was before Israel’s mass relocation order for northern Gaza, and uncertainty hovered over us. Would our region be next? Would we survive the night? These questions tormented us.

On the third or fourth day of the battle, Israel issued an evacuation order to destroy a region. We did not know for sure whether our neighborhood was part of the evacuation area, so we spent the day nervously discussing and chatting with neighbors, but in the end, we opted to remain.

On the same day, a bombing fairly close to our home destroyed our windows and those of practically every house in the area. The stench of smoke and fire permeated the air. One of our neighbors had his door pushed into his face by the power of the shockwave. Debris from the attack showered down on our home. We could hear every piece of masonry and glass crashing down on us.

In the tumult, horrified neighbors rushed inside our home. Parents yelled for their children, everyone fumbling in the pitch-black night since there was no power. I can hardly recall the events of that night—it’s all a swirl of dread, noise, and bewilderment.

Later, we discovered that the bombing had targeted an empty area of ground. But the sheer power of the missile—a probable 2,000-pound bomb—had wreaked devastation over the neighborhood and demolished the neighboring homes.

● The Mass Displacement: Fleeing to Khan Younis

On October 13, Israel issued a mass evacuation order for nearly a million Palestinians residing in northern Gaza, urging them to flee south of Wadi Gaza. At first, we couldn’t believe the news. Could this truly be happening? But when the IDF contacted our phones, and the press verified it, we realized it was true.

We had no means of travel and no notion of where we would go. After hours of excruciating contemplation, we decided to go. Everyone in our area was leaving, and remaining behind seemed like definite death. The IDF phoned our neighbors, saying that our block would be bombarded—likely a fear tactic—but it was enough to force us away.

Leaving was one of the toughest choices we ever made. We had to leave our pet cat, leaving him with food and water, not knowing what would become of him. To this day, I have no clue whether he lived.

My aunt had a friend in Khan Younis who provided us a tiny flat to stay in. With no other choices, we opted to travel there. But getting to the south was another struggle.

We first intended to walk the whole distance—hours of walking while carrying everything we could handle. We had old relatives, individuals with diseases, and tiny children with us, so the voyage looked impossible. Fortunately, a neighbor with a moving truck volunteered to transport us. Twenty-six of us crowded into the back of the vehicle, pressed so closely that several of us almost passed out from the heat and lack of air.

Halfway through the trip, after crossing Wadi Gaza, the driver left us off at Deir al-Balah to return for additional family. We unpacked our luggage and waited in the hot heat for hours before obtaining transportation to Khan Younis. By the time we reached the modest flat near Nasser Medical Complex—which would later be under siege and demolished by the IDF like many other hospitals in Gaza—we were fatigued, but we assumed the worst was behind us.

● Life in Displacement: Struggling to Survive in Khan Younis

I stayed roughly a month and a half in Khan Younis before fleeing Gaza via the Russian consulate. Life was really awful. Even my family, who are currently living in tents without appropriate sanitation, stated it was worse in Khan Younis.

The place we stayed in was tiny—simply two small rooms and a tight living area with one bathroom for 26 people. I’ll let you envision the restroom scenarios we had to undergo routinely. Since there was no running water in the restroom, we sometimes had to use it after one another without flushing.

Living so near to the hospital meant ambulances were constantly coming and going, bringing both the wounded and the dead. Due to the paucity of water, we had to travel to the hospital to fill containers. Naturally, this meant we regularly saw the ambulances arrive, laden with individuals who had recently been hurt or murdered.

A typical day began with an hour-long trek to the bakery to acquire some bread. Bakeries were being bombed at the time, along with practically everything else. After standing in line for hours, we were fortunate to acquire bread at all. We would carry it home to eat with cheese or a touch of thyme and olive oil. That was all we had, other than canned stuff like tuna and meat. Chicken or eggs were a luxury beyond comprehension.

Potable water was scarce. I had a one-liter bottle that lasted me three days. We rationed water carefully. Filling potable water also involved waiting in lengthy lines and trekking significant distances.

Non-potable water was equally as limited. We only got water once a week from the Khan Younis municipality, and it barely trickled from the tap. In Gaza, we had 1,000-liter tanks on roofs for storing water, but with such little availability, we had to fill the tanks with buckets. This procedure took almost six hours and involved multiple individuals working in turns.

Water—or rather the lack of it—was the worst aspect of the whole predicament. Water is the essence of life, and without it, nothing is possible. I cannot express more how vital it is.

Naturally, there was no electricity or internet. We were familiar with power outages from past battles, so we had already adapted by utilizing batteries and UPS systems for lighting and internet routers. In Gaza, we had an 8-hour timetable for power—8 hours on and 8 hours off—but here, we had nothing.

The family we stayed with unexpectedly had internet, but we used it so extensively that they ultimately changed the password to block us from accessing it. We resorted to purchasing super-slow Wi-Fi cards, which we used solely for rudimentary surfing and chatting. Sometimes, we downloaded YouTube videos at 240p.

One terrible moment stood out to me. My parents went to the market to purchase some clothing, and only minutes after they departed, I heard the loud sound of an Israeli missile landing in their way. My heart skipped a beat, and I was filled with worry. I tried phoning them, but there was no service, and I had to wait an hour before seeing them come back. Thankfully, they returned safely—the missile had flown over them and crashed far away.

The conflict, along with the awful living circumstances, produced great stress within the family. Naturally, there was a lot of infighting amongst families. It was profoundly regrettable since we were living in someone else’s house, and they, along with their neighbors, would intercede to break up disputes. Thankfully, my immediate family and I never battled with anybody.
In general, life in relocation was miserable.

● Escaping Gaza: Crossing the Rafah Border

We got a text message on the night of November 14th, directing us to travel to the Rafah border crossing. We were advised to be there by 6:30 AM, so we immediately began collecting our possessions and said our goodbyes. At the time, we felt we would return in a month or two, like we did after the 2014 battle. However, the slaughter continues with no end in sight, and there is no possibility for anybody to escape or re-enter Gaza.

The automobile trip to Rafah was exceedingly stressful. Fuel was limited owing to the Israeli embargo, thus the journey cost three times the typical price. Anxiety permeated the air as we traveled, knowing that Israel had been attacking everything that moved—even the Rafah crossing itself many times.

We arrived on schedule in the morning but didn’t cross into Egypt until midnight. Around 90 Russians were with us, and the Russian embassy had prepared buses to transport us to a hotel 10 hours away. After various delays, we eventually arrived at the hotel, where we rested for a few hours before driving to Cairo International Airport. From there, we boarded a military jet to Moscow, Russia.

When we landed, it was chilly and snowing. I had never touched or seen snow in my life. The Russian officials swiftly provided us warm clothing and did medical examinations on everyone before bringing us to a neighboring school being utilized as a refugee camp.

After spending two days there, we asked the МЧС (Ministry of Emergency Situations) to help us travel to my mother’s family in Izhevsk. They booked train tickets for us, and two days later, I was embracing relatives I hadn’t seen in over 10 years, since the 2014 conflict in Gaza.

It was a bittersweet moment. I was happy to see my family again, but I couldn’t stop wondering about the loved ones I had left behind in Gaza. Some of my pals have since been slain, while others barely averted death from Israeli aircraft and tank fire.

Because of the turmoil in Ukraine, Russia was not secure for my brother or myself. Both of us were of military age, and there was a danger we may be recruited into the Russian army. I had no intention of leaving one war, only to fight in another.

My parents recognized that we couldn’t remain in Russia for long. After a month, we flew to Hurghada, Egypt, where we have been residing ever since.

● Reflection: Living with Survivor’s Guilt

I’ve now been out of Gaza for almost a year. Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t left. I feel tremendous remorse for leaving my family and friends behind as I sleep in a luxurious bed and eat full meals. Meanwhile, they have nothing to eat and sleep in chilly, waterlogged tents.

People here in Egypt regularly ask me where I’m from. When I tell them I’m from Gaza, they’re happy to see me—some even give me a hug. Egyptians are lovely people, and I’m thrilled to live among them.

Still, I feel guilty every time I mention I’m from Gaza. I haven’t endured a tenth of what they’re suffering. I feel like a stranger to my own house. I don’t feel like I’m one of them. Everyone who remained in Gaza is a hero, particularly the healthcare personnel who refused to abandon their stations and their patients despite the unrelenting Israeli assault.

So far, Israel has killed approximately 43,000 people and wounded over 100,000, with children making up the biggest percentage of the victims. These figures are conservative. Some estimates say the total toll is closer to 186,000, including direct and indirect fatalities.

The continuous carnage in Gaza will always haunt me. I have nightmares over the footage of dead children I watched. Some of them were simply little fragments of flesh and chunks of meat splashed on the ground. Children physically breathing their last breaths and dying on tape and others who had bodily parts missing. There is one footage I will never forget—a small girl had her whole jaw blasted off and was weeping in the hospital.

I loathe watching these movies and dislike that I have become used to them, but I push myself to watch to remind myself of the genocide and to remember what is occurring there.

Some victim accounts are so tragic that they bring me to tears. One tale I can’t forget is about a parent who lost his daughter in his arms. She had been hit in the neck by an Israeli sniper. She came to her father, weeping and screaming, “My neck hurts.” She died soon after reaching the hospital. What upsets me is that she didn’t even realize why she was dying.

I try to communicate with my friends and relatives in Gaza as often as possible, but the awful internet conditions make it tough. Everyone I spoke to there warns me to never come back here.

I hope this atrocity stops, that the people of Gaza may heal, and that the future will be better for them. Inshallah.